Travels through God’s own motorcycle country

[Professor sprocket]

Im seeing Ian's pics for the first time. Brilliant hey?

By this time the trip was totally finding its groove. This was the best riding ever. We were all filthy and time had readjusted itself around the natural rise and fall of the sun, and our movements and thoughts were consumed only by food, fuel and dodging rocks or Face-eaters on the path. Work and life at home were far behind. Isnt it superb when you can see your normal life in the city like its on another planet?

That night we all went to bed scared of lions. But by midnight part of me was hoping they'd come and do their worst. I was the gullible fool who wasnt in a tent - I had a tarp that I reckoned would be as versatile and sleep more people. That was a bad idea. We had camped under trees where the bones and dung of livestock were scattered around. And, as the Prof announced the next day, that meant parasites.

I was in a thick down sleeping bag, bought while still a happy camper in the UK winter. Totally overheating here. So it was wide open and the insects and god only knows what else were creeping in. I felt a couple of bites and started pulling bugs (or something) off. Then more bites - soon I couldnt pull them off fast enough. There were bugs in my hair - different kinds - soft ones, hard ones, big ones, tiny ones. I was soon covered in itchy welts from unknown origin. By around midnight I was totally undone, and barged into Ian's tent and zipped the door air-tight shut. Im not going anywhere like that without a tent again....

The next day a Himba lady walked into our camp. She had an amazing self confidence about her. Walking into a group of men - not at all aggressive or rude, but also not at all deferential or submissive. After asking where we were going (universal sign language), she took a smouldering log off our fire and walked casually back to her camp, whereever that was. This kind of freaked us out. Apparently fire has some special connotations to the Himba. We were wondering if we'd lit ours in the wrong place, or were burning something sacred, of if she just needed a light. Suddenly we felt pretty ignorant, and were marvelling at the exotic and strange world we had entered. We must have seemed much stranger to our Himba friend - as we stood around with all our fancy kit, clearly struggling to hack it, while she was totally at home.

I've got some video clips to upload of all this - just trying to get the time to edit them. I think most of us, when we got home, were immediately swallowed up by normality and getting the time to even read this now seems tricky. That cant be right....

 

[Three Dawg]

Sub.

 

[MaxThePanda]

Hiya guys! Loving this writeup ,but why arent we hearing nothing from Midget. He's such a shy boy!

Hi Harriet - you and me both! Midge took one look at civilization and went AWOL back into the bush. His boss tells me he's back at his desk this morning so hopefully we'll have word!

 

[MaxThePanda]

By this time the trip was totally finding its groove. This was the best riding ever. We were all filthy and time had readjusted itself around the natural rise and fall of the sun, and our movements and thoughts were consumed only by food, fuel and dodging rocks or Face-eaters on the path. Work and life at home were far behind. Isnt it superb when you can see your normal life in the city like its on another planet?

This, friends, is the mythical face-eater that Tom is talking about. It's a fearsome sight, and just imagine you were the hapless tourist who had just been snuck up on, fast asleep in your sleeping bag...

That night we all went to bed scared of lions. But by midnight part of me was hoping they'd come and do their worst. I was the gullible fool who wasnt in a tent - I had a tarp that I reckoned would be as versatile and sleep more people. That was a bad idea. We had camped under trees where the bones and dung of livestock were scattered around. And, as the Prof announced the next day, that meant parasites.

I was in a thick down sleeping bag, bought while still a happy camper in the UK winter. Totally overheating here. So it was wide open and the insects and god only knows what else were creeping in. I felt a couple of bites and started pulling bugs (or something) off. Then more bites - soon I couldnt pull them off fast enough. There were bugs in my hair - different kinds - soft ones, hard ones, big ones, tiny ones. I was soon covered in itchy welts from unknown origin.

What he didn't know was that this red blob would grow and inflame and engorge, until in 24 days time about 100 small, disgusting and angry little spiders would come crawling out of the wound....

Wait... 24 days? Good God, that's tomorrow!!! Um... Tom...??

 

[armpump]

lol

 

[Orangeswifty]

Great read......gooi............ :sip:

 

[MaxThePanda]

Day 5: Little Serengeti to Mordor

I woke up with a flea-infested Englishman by my side. Less said about that, the better. A quick head count and we made sure that none of the crew had been dragged off during the night by the face-eaters. Obviously an extremely close call, but perhaps thanks to the KTM voodoo doll we left out to protect the camp.

Tom was up early documenting the survival of Scariest Night on Trip So Far:

and I’m sure you’d like to see an obligatory shot of the little fella in his zebra pyjamas, all 4’10” of him.

As Tom has already mentioned we received a strange visit from a gorgeous local lady. She stood silently by the fire, staring at us as we stared at her, and then rummaged around for a burning log and left without a word.

We had a long way to go today, so with some cajoling we got out of camp in the half light. The riding was immediately sensational - an undulating, rocky track through bush, over river beds and between thorn trees.

It seemed the disquiet of the night before, and the gate man’s shocked demeanour weren’t entirely unfounded, because soon a few sets of these appeared in the sandy path:

I’m no tracker of any description, but I’m guessing that four or five animals with footprints like this, walking together down a sandy track can’t be anything other than lion. Everyone was suddenly very wide awake indeed, and scanning the sides of the trail extremely thoroughly as we rode slowly and very cautiously forwards. The tracks continued for about four or five kilometres, right in the middle of the sandy path we were riding, and they looked extremely fresh.

I was at the back, and around this time I got my first sighting of giraffe, about five of them cantering along within 20m of the road. I was already ruing not buying a long zoom lens for this trip. I’d seriously considered it, but wildlife photography isn’t exactly my forte and thought it would be of limited use. Disappointing decision.

About 20km in, the trail opened to a wide plain and Mike and I were riding at the back when we came across three gun toting, camo wearing chaps at an intersection, waving us to slow down. “Here we go,” I thought.

They turned out to be super friendly - an anti poaching squad assigned to protect the local rhino inhabitants. They laughed that our companions had ridden straight past them, clearly afraid, but I must question the limited sense in doing so - the guy behind the bike had some kind of automatic rifle!

Us: “Are there lion here”

Them: “Oh yes. Many many lion. Back there…”

Us: “You mean where we slept last night?”

Them: “Yes! So many lion!”

Jesus.

Them: “And you will see many elephant where you are going.” As they waved in the general direction of the trail we were following between the mountains.

Fat lot of good that was going to do me. I was wearing a distasteful badge with vitriol, bitterness and loathing:

What on earth had convinced me to be so blasé and overconfident that we’d spot elephant before today I have no idea. And where were the big *******s anyway??

The rangers waved us on with a smile, and immediately the track opened up into the most glorious plains. Under wheel was sandy and smooth, perfect conditions to twist the 500’s ear hard and really enjoy the riding for a while.

Giraffe and various species of antelope everywhere you looked.

We were now entering an incredible area called ‘Little Serengeti” and it’s easy to see where it gets the name.

Incredible, wide open planes, dancing herds of Springbok and soft grasses bending in the slight breeze. The temperature was even mild and pleasant, and I kind of wished we’d made it here the evening before to set up camp. The views at dawn would have been world class.

 

[MaxThePanda]

After a bit of a rest and some breakfast (peanuts and raisins), the group charged off and I was left with Gav, who was peering disconsolately at the side of his machine.

“That explains the flapping.” was all he could offer.

One of the main tank bolts holding on the fancy KTM Rally tanks had disappeared. Not a thrilling discovery with only my dishevelled little toolkit to help us. We set about stripping the offending bike, and trying to bum non-essential bolts from things like mud-flaps to help out.

We’d been at it about twenty minutes when a double cab rolled in across the plain. It had mis-matched everything - wheels, tyres - and was groaning and creaking when it stopped, so I wasn’t holding out hope. They asked us for water, or asked us if we had enough water - it wasn’t entirely clear - and then roared off in a dust cloud. Somewhat perplexing.

Half an hour after they’d left, our boys rolled back in - it’s always a bit tricky with a mechanical straight after you stop, because everyone rides for a while before noticing that the team isn’t together. All good - we just cable tied the thing back on and set off again.

As mentioned at the start of this report, Gav had sold his 990R for this 690 to come on this trip, and - to be a touch polite - the new bike hadn’t all been plain sailing. As a result he hadn’t had any time getting to know the bike or getting used to it in offroad conditions.

After a sensational crossing of Serengeti Jr. we were due to drop down into the Hoanib River. I’m a bit gutted about that - I could easily have explored further up the plains - definitely on the list for a future trip. The other three had done the first few kilometres of the river bed and warned the sand was super soft, so after a bit of a consult Gav and I decided to swap bikes for the next section. I handed over the 500 a little wistfully - Gav hadn’t been on a 500 before and I knew what was coming. Would I ever get my feet back on those glorious footpegs??

A sharp ninety degree bend into the river bed, and a few corners in extremely soft, powdery sand, and the river bed opened up. What followed was 70km of utterly sensational, Dakar-style riverbed terrain that was a momentously joyous hoot to ride. The 690 was wound up a bit tight on the damper, but once I loosened her a few clicks and got a used to the extra bulk over the 500, she was revelling in the conditions. Third and fourth wide open in sand are a joy on that bike - the engine bellows and shrieks, and the rally tanks carry the fuel nice and low so she’s quite stable. 690’s aren’t massively endowed in the suspension department, but she was bouncing over the tracks and handling the drop-offs with the best of them, and powersliding and lifting the front on command like a hooligan.

What a jol! I wish I’d had a helmet cam, I was laughing all the way to the memory bank. We stopped under some huge trees about 40 clicks in for a break, and eventually English returned - having set off like a mongoose with a cracker up his arse, delighting in his new found heroism on sand.

One more, just for the ladies:

The Professor had finally found his sand legs:

and warned me I might as well try prise the keys to the 500 from his cold, dead hands.

Fok.

This trip was having a weird effect of making us continually say that was the best ******* hour we’d spent on a motorcycle. Seriously, the riding, the scenery, the wonderful remoteness was intoxicating.

Oh, and the Midge claimed to have seen three elephant retreating into the bush on the side of the riverbank while he was leading the group. I don’t believe him, but he claimed the three days kitty ***** immunity anyway. Dwarves are not to be trusted.

Eventually the wide, empty sand closed in a bit and a proper track appeared between pools of standing water and greenery.

(feel free to caption this photo)

A little turtle dug himself into the track as I tried to take his portait.

The scenery was still spellbinding, and constantly changing.

I’d been warned about a hundred kilometres of fesh-fesh on this route, and eventually it arrived. We climbed out of the river bed and the track started to weave through bushes and then fan out into dozens of smaller tracks. Soon we realised why. In the rainy season, this route must be extremely muddy, and various vehicles have dug deep trenches into the track. Of course it’s then impassible, and so a new track is cut through the bush, and on it goes. Then, in summer, fine, powdery dust blows into the tracks - a cross between marshmallows, talcum powder and silt. Well beknown to Baja 1000 and Dacar racers, the stuff is hell on two wheels. You can’t see where you’re going, and it’s not long before your front wheel lodges in a hard rut, and down you go.

Which is exactly what happened to the little fella.

He’d gone down extremely hard in one of the dongas and was wincing lightly, his face contorted in pain, and holding his left leg out at a very strange angle. “Oh ****, here we go…” I thought. But the Midget is as tough as an old male warthog, and with a couple of Myprodol and a handful of Cataflam down his gullet he was off.

Either he’d be all right or he wouldn’t. Whatcha gonna do?

The Hoanib behind us, there was a short purgatory session to Sesfontein on the D3706, for fuel. Actually, it was beastly hot again, and when we got to Sesfontein I saw this sign for banana bread (I know!?!???) and we stopped at this funny little local joint and ate everything they had.

A big decision had to be made. We were doing our best to stay ahead of a big, noisy crowd of Hondas (more on that later), and were slowly losing that battle. In typical fashion, we were also now nearly two days behind schedule. Should we stick to our original plan of bashing up an old 4x4 trail in the west to Opuwo - which would probably take us the best part of a day and a half - or turn tail, take the C43 and be there by nightfall?

It was already after 4, and there was a strong case being made in certain quarters for the chicken run, when we got to the fuel dump and found this:

That, my furry little friends, is a KTM ‘Rally’ proof fairing gone to meet its maker. The tubular steel frame holding the entire front end of the bike had broken off its supporting side bolts, and snapped clean in two. Glorious.

Decision made, we tied the bike together with cable ties and a luggage strap and headed for the dirt highway.

We were heading for Opuwo, pinnacle of ‘civilisation’ in the north of Namibia, or more specifically, the mountain top fortress of Mordor… I mean the mountain top resort called Opuwo Lodge. See, this place holds a special bunch of memories for our little group, and particularly the lone Englishman in our midst. Catch up here https://wilddog.net.za/forum/index.php?topic=133427.0 if you don’t know the story, but Opuwo Lodge is where he watched his infamous KTM 690 die a miserable death and was forced to endure the sight of the rest of us riding away into the distance towards Angola.

What on earth would the place serve up this time???

Only tomorrow would reveal for sure, but on this day, at least, good things: a beautiful moon rise, and a glorious, ice cold beer. We’d made it!

 

[zetman]

:ricky: Lekker trip MR Panda en die Boksom Bende  :spitcoffee:

 

[isiTututu]

It's a terrapin Ian. Turtles live in the sea....

Pedantry aside - Who goes on a trip like this on an unfamiliar bike, and without at least going over it with a large jar of Locktite? These are lessons learned I suppose, but to be the one member of the group that's responsible for holding everyone up so badly that C-roads (Namibian dirt highway) are opted for instead of glorious 4x4 routes, does tend to wear on one's psyche a bit.

I'd been making somewhat heavy weather of all the sand that we'd been riding, and had even had an argument with a Euphorbia a day or so back, so I was already feeling a little jaded. So, when the bits started falling off or breaking off my bike, I was right on the edge of throwing more than just my toys. At Sesfontein I was prepared to throw in the towel so that the rest of the crew could continue unhindered by this developing mechanical catastrophe. Gentlemen that they all are, they would hear none of it! "We are not quitters" they said, and "This is what bike trips are all about. They're about MacGyvering and making a plan and forging on through adversity". Of course they're right, and I knew it. It's not as if I've never had to do exactly that in days gone by.

And besides, Tom spoke so wistfully of his time spent at Opuwo Lodge. I wasn't going to let him down by not sharing in his delight at returning to the place that he holds so dear to his heart.

 

[MaxThePanda]

Look, I never said I was a nature guide, ok?  ;D

Having had the horrible experience of leaving one team member behind a few years before there was no chance we were leaving you to walk the gangplank on your own. We were keeping this thing afloat together, or we were all going down with the ship. And that's that.

 

[Sam]

Lining up to be another classic RR! Thanks for sharing.....although it's doing severe damage to productivity.

This terrain looks quite a bit like some of the stuff you guys did on your Angola trip, on the way from the river to the beach? (although, my memory isn't that great anymore, so could be mistaken)

What type of fuel range do you get with those tanks? The sand riding must be quite hard on consumption?

 

[MaxThePanda]

Lining up to be another classic RR! Thanks for sharing.....although it's doing severe damage to productivity.

This terrain looks quite a bit like some of the stuff you guys did on your Angola trip, on the way from the river to the beach? (although, my memory isn't that great anymore, so could be mistaken)

What type of fuel range do you get with those tanks? The sand riding must be quite hard on consumption?

Hey Sam! I have to say the riding on this trip was even better than Angola - and that's saying something!!

Gav will have to comment on the 690 - my 500 has the KTM/Acerbis 19/20l tank on and I got 380km on one leg with about 2.5l remaining - and that was a mix of babying it on the open stuff, and a memorable 50km chasing the Midge quite hard up a river bed.

 

[KarooKid]

I almost enjoy the writing more than the actual trip if that is possible.

Feels like I was there - oh wait I was. Just on a different trip.

Keep it coming guys. This makes me long for a proper adventure.

 

[MaxThePanda]

Day 6: Mountain Mechanical Mecca almost to Uncle Ben’s famous road down

Sometimes you just have to stop and smell the roses.

Opuwo is a thoroughly uninspiring town of dubious distinction. Plonked down more or less in the centre of far northern Namibia, it is as close as that part of the country comes to a metropolis. It’s dirty, infested with all the downsides of dysfunctional urbanisation, and a stark contrast to the unspoilt remote wilderness that surrounds it on all sides.

But - for travellers at least - there’s an oasis on top of a mountain, looking over the dramatic scenery to the north, and into Angola: Opuwo Country Lodge.

We’d spent an awful lot of time there in 2013 - it was the launchpad for our Angola trip. We decamped there after a dreadful three day drive north, and promptly discovered Tom’s bike had a hydraulic clutch problem. We then wasted half a day sourcing baby oil to keep his KTM happy, and set off, only to be stranded by a broken side stand switch, and tow it back there with our tail between our legs a day later. We couldn’t fix the stricken machine, and were eventually forced to abandon the forlorn Englishman and ride off to the border with our touring party in tatters.

The place seems to have a strange, dark, magnetic power… my return two weeks later was at the end of a hellish 18-hour ride through the desert in a freezing mid-winter night, so hopped up on painkillers and anti-inflammatories I hardly knew my own name, after a horrible crash the afternoon before on the other side of the border.

Time to meet the Lord of the Mountain: would he prove to be Satan or Saviour this time??

The Professor was in no mood to mess about. He knew his bike was in bad shape and we weren’t going to be able to go anywhere until it got sorted. Job number one - strip and find the source of the issue.

Well, that didn’t take long:

I’m afraid I have to question the wisdom of whichever mechanical genius designed this ‘rally’ (and that’s one huge set of inverted commas) fairing subframe. The thin-walled, mild steel bracket clamps around the steerer tube, and bolts onto the radiator mount studs with two tiny 6mm bolts. Designed to carry only the weight of the radiators, these simply can’t take the pace and just break. The frame follows soon after.

I’d seen several of these things go down at successive Amageza’s, but Prof had had so many hassles with the bike in the lead up to the trip I didn’t have the heart to tell him he should replace this entire fairing subframe too. There simply wasn’t the time or the resources - I’m certain he would have bailed from the whole venture.

So I held thumbs and hoped. Well that worked out well.

Fortunately, we were now at the Mechanical Mountain Mecca otherwise known as Opuwo Lodge, and were graciously allowed access to the workshop. What transpired there was nothing short of a miracle.

Stripped off the bike, several pieces of rusty angle iron were cut, bent, and welded in place to support the offending bracket.

It was a truly incredible and outstanding experience to see what these artisans were capable of. Properly braced, supported, and even better than new!

I honestly wouldn’t have expected more from the best specialist engineering shop in Cape Town, and this was accomplished with nothing more than a hammer, a large angle grinder and a pretty basic welding machine. Just brilliant!

In the meantime I gave the 500 some love - having decided that 3,000km without an oil change would be a bit hard on the old girl, and carried two litres of Motorex’s finest for just this moment.

Two of the three KTMs were now getting mechanical attention (OK, one was routine, but still), while the two Suzukis on the trip were happily munching grass in the paddock. So Thomas decided to pop down to the workshop to gloat, and babble on about the superiority of Japanese machinery. None of that hydraulic clutch nonsense for him this time…

… until he came to a halt in front of us and made a nasty discovery:

Oops. What is this thing about Opuwo, clutches and the expats? The Suzie had had a shitload of loving mechanical attention showered on her prior to departure… but somehow that had not included an inspection of the state of the vital clutch cable.

In a remarkable feat of déjà vu, Tom was bundled into the lodge van and taken down to the mecca of Opuwo to look for a replacement.

A beautiful trio?

Meanwhile, Gav’s saviours set about drilling out the offending bolt.

Unfortunately that’s the end of my photos here, but a stud was welded in the frame of the 690 which did the job for the rest of the trip. Tom unfortunately returned empty handed from town, but in a turn of mechanical genius a bobble was soldered on the end of his frayed cable and the Suzie was back on the road.

We shook the dust off our feet before anything else could go wrong, and exited stage left to the Opuwo fuel station.

The Professor looked a lot happier than the day before… just maybe our luck had turned:

Midge, as usual, was getting all the attention:

But English returned empty-handed from his search for a bicycle cable, or anything to stand in for a clutch cable, should the solder bobble not survive the next ten days.

We’d just have to wing it. What’s the worst that could happen?

Our original plan was to spend the night in Epupa. I had charted a somewhat dodgy looking track over the mountains down to Swartbooi’s drift (the green line on the map above). I knew it was dubious that we’d be able to get down on the far side, but was gagging to give it a go, and the crocs and river bed enduro of the Cunene River trail also lay in wait.

But we’d lost most of another day - it was mid afternoon already - and we had to face the reality that a day or two had to be got back somewhere. The decision was made to cut off the entire Epupa loop, and head straight for Okongwati, at the start of the run up to Van Zyl’s pass.

We plugged in the headphones, headed back onto the C43 dirt highway and banged it over to the ‘Gwati, where we’d fill up before hitting one of the more remote quadrants of the trip.

Behold the Engen of Okangwati:

Beats hanging sacks of fuel off the back of an enduro bike, that’s for sure!

On we went to towards the pass. Many of you here have probably done this section of the track - it’s a lovely, rocky trail through thorn bushes and past small Himba hamlets. Tom had a slightly wild look in his eyes and was shaking off the disturbance of his mechanical misfortune by dicing the Midge at the front. I pottered along at the back, soaking in the tranquil afternoon. It was a special few hours, as the sun slowly sank towards the tree-lined horizon, casting a warm glow over everything, including my state of mind.

Perhaps it was the symbolic turning point of the trip, even though we weren’t quite half way in terms of time - from tomorrow we’d be heading south. We’d had some bad luck and dealt with it victoriously. It often takes a few days to leave the cares and concerns of normal life behind, and sink into the magical zone of a bike trip, and I felt like I was just there. Happy days ahead.

We camped in another stunning river bed, and braaied some fresh meat from Opuwo. Tomorrow was going to be a great day!

 

[isiTututu]

And such a fine evening is was...

that the Midge entertained us all with magical stories and a fire dance to boot!

 

[Three Dawg]

Problem with the pics in that last post...

 

[Xpat]

...
Oops. What is this thing about Opuwo, clutches and the expats?
...

Yes indeed - what is it? As an expat myself I had two of my Kaokoland trips cut short because of the clutch failure. Once because of worn clutch plates half way up VZP (admitedly my limited skills while trying to ride up the pass played role), and once because of snapped clutch cable in Huarusib river about 10 km north of Purros.

Mind you - it was always on Japanese bike. On the Eurotrash Husky with hydraulic clutch I finished the whole loop no problem...

Anyway - great report, just get on with it please  ot:

 

[dirt rat]

To pack a spare clutch and throttle cable on a trip is really a no brainer- takes little space and is part of my spares I always carry.

 

[armpump]

Coffee and a ride report update is a great way to start the day .... thanks again